“Oh, yes, you’d stop ’em! If a 122-shell would be coming right for that topknot of yours it would veer off and go on, hoping to draw blood where none was already flowing.”
“Faith, an’ how did yez iver git in the sarvice? Ye’re color blind; me mither dyed me hair blue; can’t ye see it? to offset me too cheerful disposition.”
“If you told me it was green I might believe you. But on the top of the green it’s all rufus, Mike, all rufus.”
“Well, misther bobby, it’s all right fer yez. But it’s a fightin’ color; ain’t it?”
“I believe that! But come now, lads; you’d better beat it while your skins are whole.”
Tim began turning the car. “Sure an’ ye loike t’ give orders. An’ Oi’ll be tellin’ yez this; if a shell comes your way an’ mixes wid yer anatomy, er yez git overcome wid hard wor-r-rk sett in’ on thot plug all day ye’ll be hopeful glad t’ see us comin’. So long!”
Not many minutes later the boys reached the hospital and out came the Major in his long, white blouse. When thebrancardiershad carried the wounded man into the X-ray tent, the chief had a word to say to theambulanciersgathered by the roadside.
“Hold yourselves in readiness, boys; we have orders to evacuate at once; get every man that we can let go out of here and be ready to pull up stakes at a moment’s notice. That’ll be if the Germans succeed in advancing. It is believed they are getting ready to make another push. So, as soon as we list our cases fully as to condition and treatment, in half an hour’s time, we shall ask you to go get busy. You had better line up along the road. Those cases in the first three cars you will report and they’ll go on through to the convalescent bases, as ordered by the Red Cross commission assistant; the others will go to the nearest Red Cross base. Now, then, stand ready boys, and tune up your motors till we call on you for the stretcher work. We haven’t enoughbrancardiersto do it quickly.” The Major re-entered the tent.
Don turned to a fellow-driver and was making a remark when Tim pulled his sleeve.
“Do yez hear thot coffee grinder comin’?”
From a distance there was the hum of a motor high in air. As it grew louder, it was easily recognized as a double motor—the unmistakable sound, never in tune, that giant twin propellers make.
“Sounds like a bombing plane. Ours or the Huns’?” queried a driver, gazing aloft. The bunch were all doing that now, as a matter of habit. One chap was squinting through a field glass.
“There she comes out of that cloud! Pretty high up. Say, it’s a Heinie! What’s he up to? Guns can’t reach him at that elevation, buthisbombs can reach the earth.”
“Going to worry them reserves, I reckon. Where’s the Frog-eaters? They’ll chase him home if they go up.”
There seemed to be no French birdmen around and the German was evidently taking advantage of this. He was coming on straight over the hospital and lessening his height every second. In thirty seconds he had come down to half the distance from the earth and began to sweep about in a circle, or like a gigantic figure eight, much as a great, bloodthirsty hawk does when scanning the earth below for its prey.
Suddenly, from beneath the airplane the watchers saw something long and gray which seemed to poise a moment under the airplane, then drop and gain momentum every fraction of a second, and fall like a plummet straight for the hospital tent. The watchers, all experienced, knew well what it was, but any cry of warning was lost in the explosion that followed not a hundred feet beyond the tent.
“The dirty spalpeen!” Don heard Tim shout. “Come down here wanst an’ thin do it! Gin’ral,”—Tim insisted upon calling Don that—“he’ll make surer the next time! Come, there’s wor-rk inside!”
There was. Don caught a glimpse of twoambulanciersdiving under their cars, of another running somewhere else, evidently for shelter. The boy’s ears welcomed the sharp crack, crack of field pieces and he knew the anti-aircraft were demonstrating their readiness. He got one more glimpse of the Hun plane over the roof of the tent and saw another gray thing descending. Then he was inside.
When Don had looked in not two hours before he noted that at least three-fourths of the cots were occupied, the convalescentswalking slowly about, or seated in little groups, talking; the nurses were busily engaged. The sad sounds pervading the place were horribly depressing to him. He could not long endure the labored breathing of those who were passing over the Great Divide, the persistent coughing of the severely gassed, the sight of shell-shocked men, who, without a scratch, cowered and stared about like crazy people, the moaning of those who suffered and the smell of anesthetics.
But now all was changed. The scene was beyond description. Don was awake to his duty and eager for it. There must be strong wills and hands to aid and reassure these helpless fellows. The doctors and nurses, frightened but heroic, could not do it all.
With a sound like the rending of a thousand taut cords a hole was torn in the tent roof, the interior was filled with streaks of flame and smoke and flying objects, a choking odor filled the air with stinging fumes and through it all came groans, screams and curses in ahideous melody. Wounded men some with limbs in splints, some half covered with bandages, leaped or tumbled out of their cots, and sought imagined shelter anywhere. Some limped or crawled outside.Some lay still and prayed aloud. Another bomb fell that was a second clean miss of the main tent, though it struck the corner of the medical supplies tent and scattered the Major’s personal effects beyond recovery. Two other bombs came down in quick succession, one in the road beyond, cutting a hind tire, lifting the top off of the last ambulance in the line and knocking down two sentries. The fifth bomb went wild and did no harm. Those who still had their eyes on the murderous thing aloft saw it turn eastward and rise beyond the reach of the guns.
There was much work of a very serious nature during the next few hours and then a night of running back and forth. The first streaks of a murky dawn witnessed the evacuation hospital nearly empty and ready for new cases. Two lads in a rain-soaked and mud-bespattered ambulance, carrying a cheerful soldier whose only need was a week of rest, stopped by the roadside on the way to Paris—and, with their passenger’s consent, rolled up in blankets on floor and seat to sleep the sleep of the just fagged.
My boy, I want to commend you, for your aid when they bombed us last week. Haven’t had a chance to before. If all of the fellows had been as cool and as helpful as you and that little, red-headed Irishman we would have had less trouble straightening things out. I see he is running his own car now. Who is your helper?” So spoke Major Little, when he came out of the operating room to get a breath of fresh air,and said to Don.
“I guess I’ll get a colored chap, if I get any,” the boy replied. “A lot of new cars have come over and they want men. I can get along alone. Some of the fellows do.”
“Better to have company. Helps themorale. Gives a chance of aid if one fellow gets hit. Better all round. It is the policy of the service; but we can’t always get what we want.”
“Glad you didn’t have to move after all, Doctor.”
“No, but the expectation now is that the move will come farther north—against the British. Or it may be to the south. If so, some of you fellows will have to be transferred to that sector and it will give us a little rest here.”
“I guess you won’t be sorry, sir. You have worked hard.”
“Yes, pretty hard—right along. We of the Medical Department and of the Red Cross got into it before our fighters did. But the time has come now.”
“I’d like to see some of our boys get busy in a big way. I wish I could have joined the army.”
“Your work is fully as important—and daring—and useful. And, remember this, it is far more humane. You’ve no right to feel dissatisfied.”
“I’m not, Major—not a bit of it. You may count on me! Are there any moreblessésto go down now?”
The Americans had begun to take part in the fighting. They had begun to do things in a small way, but this seemed to cause very little stir in France, except among those who had knowledge of the sterling character of the boys from the United States.The French commonly knew nothing actually. They saw nothing to make them think they were any more than a staunch-looking lot of fellows, many of whom needed a lot of drilling in modern warfare before they could hope to turn the tide of battle. There had been little evidence, so far, of this aid materializing, and even the most optimisticpoilushad begun to doubt and to question. They had become a trifle fed up on American promises and they now wondered if the Yanks really meant to fight in a large way, or had come over only to skirmish and to bolster up the courage of the Allies by remaining in reserve.
True, the Americans had done a little commendable fighting, aided by the British and the French. Brigaded with the “Tommies” they had taken some hard knocks above Amiens. Brigaded with the French they had helped hold the Germans around Montdidier, but what could they do on a large scale that would really count? Were they actually going to be a factor in war?
Well, these questions were to be answered shortly, but would the result allay all doubt in the minds of all the anxious ones? The Americans were arriving upon the field ofbattle in rapidly increasing numbers. They had come across three thousand miles of water in spite of the German submarines. Was it like those vigorous inhabitants of the greatest country on earth, to hold back now in the great contest?
Spring had arrived. It was past the middle of April. The grass was newly green. The fruit trees were coming into blossom and the foliage was beginning to bud. The birds were singing everywhere, even amidst the desolate scenes of battle. Except where the shells and shrapnel of the opposing armies had torn the ground and battered the forests, there was the peacefulness over all and beauty of the new life of the season. Even now not far back from the fighting front of the Allies, some daring tillers of the soil were making ready to plant their crops.
But alternating with the days of balmy stillness came the rains—days and days when the whole face of nature was like a vast mop, soaked to fullness, dripping and cold. And when it rained it did nothing but rain. It had become almost an icy drizzle on the twentieth and the soldiers in the trenches, those bivouacking in the open and the homeless refugees who had fledbefore the German advance, were correspondingly miserable. It was, as in the winter months, a time for greatcoats, dry footwear, if such were possible, and the making of fires wherever fuel was to be had.
Don Richards was ready with every handy means to meet the intolerable weather conditions, and his new helper, Washington White, the blackest darky and one of the best natured that ever exposed a wide row of ivories. Washington fairly hugged himself because luck had thrown him in with a lad who had camped and roughed it through wild country and knew nearly every trick of out-of-door life, from vacation experiences with his Boy Scout troop, and from camping out with the Brighton biology class.
“Wha—wha—what we gwine tuh du now, Mist’ Donal’? Ain’t a-gwine tuh stay yer; is we? In all dis slop o’ mud?”
“Just that!” Don replied. “No more mud here than everywhere else. I guess the whole world is one big puddle by the way things look, except perhaps the Desert of Sahara or the American bad lands. This is as good a spot to put up in for the night as anywhere that I know of—in this part of the earth, anyhow.”
“But wha’s de matter wif gwine on back tuh de hospital?”
“No place there. You know they’ve asked us to give up our quarters for a while to some new nurses just come over, and we’ve got to be polite to the ladies. The orders have been all along that if we were empty and night shut down on us on the road, to bunk anywhere and go on in the morning, with that much time gained. Every minute counts these days. Get the matches under the seat there, will you? And there’s a bottle of coal-oil wrapped in a rag by the tool box. Reach down that camp hatchet.”
“But, lawsee, Mist’ Donal’, we’d be somewhar’s en’ a roof en’ have lights en’ a wahm meal—-”
“Say, forget it! Haven’t we got the roof of the car? And haven’t we got a light,” pointing to the one lighted lamp of the car, “and as for a warm meal—oh, boy! I’ll make you think you’re at the Waldorf-Astoria when I get to frying this good old American bacon and these French eggs. You ought to be doing it, really, but the next time’ll be your turn. Now then, chase around for some wood!”
“B-r-r-r! Dis road’s awful dahk en’ dewood’ll be all wet’s a wet hen, en’ say, Mist’ Donal’, wid all dem sojers kickin’ de bucket back yondah en’ off dere in dem trenches en’ de amberlances chasin’ back en’ fo’th wid deaders—say, lawsee, Ah’s plum scairt ’bout projectin’ roun’ dis—”
“Aw, go on, you superstitious simp! The wood won’t be wet inside if it isn’t rotten. Don’t be a coward. Why, boy, you tell me you’re not going to be afraid of bullets and shells and bombs and gas. Aren’t they worse than people already dead? You make me tired. Go chase—!”
“But shells is jes’ shells en’ bullets is jes’ bullets en’ all dat, but dese yere deaders may be ghos’ses. Lawsee, man! Ef one o’ dem t’ings ’d rise up en’ grab yo’—ooh!”
“Say, you weren’t cut out for this kind of work, Wash. What are you going to do when we’ve got to haul some dead people, or when some poor chap dies on the way in? I’ve had three do that with me so far and it may happen right along. See here, if you want to stay with me you’ve got to be sensible and brave. There’s no such thing as ghosts and the only thing about a dead person is that it’s awful to think they’ve had to be killed. Are you going after—?”
“Yes, suh; yes, suh! Ah’ll git de wood, ef dere is any. Ah reckon Ah ain’t so much scairt as Ah let on! Ah reckon Ah ain’t.”
“You’d better not be scared at anything if you want to stay with this outfit. This is no coward’s job, Washington. And say, with that name of yours, now, you oughtn’t to be afraid of the whole German army, even if they were all dead. George Washington wasn’t afraid of anything. Is your first name George?”
“Ah reckon ’tis, but Ah doan’ know fo’ shuah. Mah mammy allus jes’ call me Wash er Washington. No, suh, dat man Ah’s name fo’ wasn’t no coward. Ah’ll git de wood, but Ah’ll take de hatchet.”
But Wash had become more reconciled to a camp in a soggy field by the time he had set his teeth into the bacon, several boxes of which, with other good things, filled a grub box in the car. Then, warmed by a fire that roared in spite of the drizzling rain and mist, and later rolled in a thick army blanket on the bottom of the ambulance, the darky’s snores soon gave evidence that ghosts were haunting him no longer.
The morning dawned with lifting mists and a breeze that was making a counterdrive to chase away the enemy clouds in order to let the peaceful sunlight through. Don, while lighting the fire, planning the breakfast and prodding Wash to get up and cook it, felt much better for the change.
“Hump yourself, you lazy snorefest you, and just look at the battle going on out here!”
That had the effect of hastily arousing Wash. Not even the promise of a crap game is dearer to one of his kind than a scrap of this sort.
“Whar-whar’s de fight? Ah doan’ heah no shootin’!”
“See those Hun clouds?” enthused Don. “Well, that west wind comes straight from good old America and it’s making the boches hustle.”
“Lawsee! Ah reckon you-all’s done got ’em! Wha-whar’s dat bacon en’ dem aigs. Yo’ jes’ watch me git up one breakfas’ dat’ll fetch roun’ yo’ senses! Golly! Heah dat?”
They both heard. A rumbling noise coming rapidly nearer along the road. Wash thought it might be the Germans, but Don assured him that was impossible. The Americans were on the job now. There was further evidence of this at hand, for out of the dispelling mists came a yellow touring carclosely followed by a gigantic khaki-colored lorry, or camion. Right back of that another and another, and more, and still more until the road was filled, farther than the eye could see, with the steadily moving line. Each big vehicle was filled with soldiers.
Don had seen a crest on the leading touring car. He knew this bunch of men, for it had been whispered from mouth to mouth at the Red Cross base hospital that the marines were on their way from westward training camps.
“Our engineers up there with General Carney showed the Huns what kind of stuff the Americans are made of,” one official had said. “Trust the marines for driving that down the Germans throats—when they get at it!”
That was it: when they got at it. But when were they to get at it? Was French official red tape in the way, or was it that the British and French generals feared to trust the untried Americans too far? Must a desperate need arise to make an actual test of the Americans?
The boys stood by their car, waving their hats at the men in passing, and many a wave of arms they got back. Many a good-naturedjibe was exchanged between the lorries and the ambulance.
“Hurrah! Go to it, you blood drinkers!” shouted Don.
“That’s the stuff, buddy! It’s sauerkraut in Berlin for us before we’re done!”
“We’re goin’ to give Fritzy fits!” roared another marine.
“How do you like cruising on land?” asked Don of another carload.
“Can’t see much difference between this country now and the good, old ocean!” was the rejoinder.
“One’s as wet as the other!”
“An’ ye can’t drink either of ’em!” shouted a third.
“Oh, look at the coon!” called a private in another camion.
“Say, nig, lost, ain’t yu? I reckon yu ol’ mammy’s jes’ cryin’ huh eyes out fo’ huh little Alabama coon!”
“Huh! Ah reckon yu-all frum down Souf, too; eh, soljah man?” yelled Wash.
“I am that! Georgia! But everything goes just the same over here!”
“Say, a darky! Wonder these Frog-eaters haven’t got him in a cage! rarity over here!” The fourthcamion contingentwere impressed.
“Well, I bet our Red Cross friend there has to eat his share of hog fat and hoe cake!”
This went on for a good three-quarters of an hour until the last lorry had passed. Then the lads turned to a hasty breakfast.
“They’re the marines, Wash; the Fifth and Sixth Regiments. You know they have a slogan in the Navy: ‘a marine never retreats’.”
“In de Navy. What dem sojahs doin’ in de Navy?”
“They’re the soldiers attached to battle-ships. They fight on land when needed, and I guess they’re going to be needed here!”
“Did yu-all know enny of ’em pussonel, Mist’ Donal’? Ah seed yo’ lookin’ lak yo’ was gwine ter call a feller in one o’ de las’ cars be name, en’ he look at yo’ so’t o’ queeah, too.”
“Yes, I happen to know one of them, Wash. You are some observer. He’s a chap from my home town. His name’s Clement Stapley. He joined the marines before I left home. But I hardly think he knew me, Wash.”
“Yes, Ah t’ink he done knowed yo’, frum de look awn his face. But mebbe he wa’n’t quite shuah. Why’n’t yu-all hollerat him en’ pass de time o’ day an’ yell how he is?”
“Oh, well, you see, we were not such very good friends, and I was afraid he might still feel sore at me. Maybe I’ll get a chance to see him again. Well, come on; we’ve got to be going. There’s a lot of work ahead.”
The battle sector southeast of Amiens and around Mondidier became quiet during the latter part of April and early May, and, true to Major Little’s predictions, he and the force under him had not much to do. There was still some local fighting. It would not be modern warfare without. Each side sought almost constantly to harass the other and to impress its enemy with its power and readiness. Still, there were a few casualties, so that the dressing stations, and operating room in the evacuation hospital were not idle, and a few ambulances were making almost continuous trips up and down the well-traveled highway.
Not far back of the road from Paris to Amiens the newly-begun American graveyard, with its regular cross-headboards, had grown somewhat. Its mounds were often decorated with roses, field poppies and wild flowers laid on them by the tenderhearted natives, mostly children. It was such sights,together with those of the ruined homes and shell-torn cities within reach of the German guns, that made the beholder pause and wonder how it was that humankind could permit war and its horrors.
The so-called second German drive of 1918 had been launched along the river Lys against Ypres and toward the Channel ports in early April. But it had proved a failure. The firm stand of the British wore out and finally stopped the Huns. Then, more and more furious at these repeated checks, the German High Command, with Hindenburg and Ludendorff at the head, shifted their offensive toward the south. If the British lion could not be separated from his ally, the French eagle, and slain at once then perhaps a supreme effort would gain the road to Paris. The threatened destruction of that city would surely bring victory to Germany and thus enable the kaiser to impose “peace at any price” upon the Allies.
Therefore, on the last day of April began the strengthening of the German line from Noyon to Rheims and a consequent push around Noyon. But the Huns made no progress and once more gnashed their teeth in preparation for a desperate onslaught.It was planned that this should break through at the long coveted points nearest their first objective, the city of Paris.
Just as the storm broke along the Oise and the Marne rivers, there came a surprise to the British, French and Germans. To the Huns it was like a thunderbolt out of a clear sky.
The Americans, under French direction, backed by French artillery, went over the top from hastily dug trenches, and made a counter-attack at Cantigny, which threw the enemy back nearly a mile. The Yanks, at the end of May, still held their positions, against the Huns most violent attacks.
Coming up the Paris-Amiens road on a bright morning—the first day of June—Don and Wash, carrying additional supplies for the dressing stations back of Cantigny, met a long line of yellow American lorries—no new thing now, but fraught with deep significance.
“The marines again, Wash—our marines—going south. I bet they’re ordered into the fight. You heard what the assistant to our commissioner said to Surgeon-Major Brown: ‘There’s likely to be some hard work stopping the Heinies on the road out there east ofParis’—the road” Don explained, the Major said “to a place they call Rheims. The Huns have got as far as the river Marne, and that’s where they were in 1914. But I’ll bet they don’t get much farther—not if our boys are going into it!”
“Is dey enny cullud sojahs in de fight?” asked Wash.
“I guess not right at this place, but I think there are, somewhere along the line. Someone told me so—a regiment or more of them.”
“Well, den, what dey wants tuh do is jes’ give ’em some razzors ’en say tu ’em: ‘Look-a-yer, yo’ niggahs, dese yer Germans ain’t noreal white folks—dat is real qual’ty—dey is jes’ po’ whites ’en no ’count ’en dey hates niggahs. Now den, go in ’en carve ’em up!’ Sho, man, dey wouldn’t be no German army in ’bout fo’ minutes.”
“Why, that’s right, Wash! Great idea! I’m going to see General Pershing about that. Or, say, how would it do to tell those colored soldiers that every Heinie’s a brother to a ’possum, or that a great big flock of fat chickens is roosting low over in the German trenches! Wouldn’t they drop down on those Huns and scare ’em to death?”
“Aw, gwan, you’s kiddin’ me, yo’ is! Say, ain’t we gwine tuh stop somewhar’s ’en see dese marines go by an’ holler at ’em lak we done—?”
“No, indeed. We’ve got to go on and get back,” said Don. “Orders are to report near LaFerté, to a French officer. The evacuation hospitals down there are all French, I guess. And now all the army down there is French, too, I expect, so we’ll bring in their wounded mostly. But if our boys—”
“Does dese yer Frenchers all yell an’ hollah when dey’s hurt bad?” Wash asked. So far he had seen but two of them, both seriously wounded, and they had done a good deal of groaning and calling for water. But the question went unanswered, for just at the moment the ambulance was compelled to veer off nearly into the ditch in order to dodge a broken-down car and the ever passing lorries, the negro being bounced almost off his seat.
“Ah doan keer whar we goes tu from yere, jes’ so’s we git somewhar’s whar de sun shines lak hit do now fo’ a little while. Ah suttenly doan lak dis puddle bizness what we has mos’ de time sense Ah ben in disyere France. Hit sure am some wet country. Now dis day ain’ so bad, so Ah’ll jes’ tap wood—” and he rapped himself on the head.
The round trip completed, Don and Wash at the base hospital, re-stocked their car for any emergency. They started out on a new road, coming up with the tail end of the marines in their big camions—passing them, one by one. The way led east, then south and east again, passing first through the town of Senlis, then around the little city of Meaux, then away on a splendid road toward Rheims. Before reaching the objective beyond the town of LaFerté, the road crossed the beautiful Marne, called a river, though Don regarded it merely a big creek, as it would be called in America.
Oh and ever on, rumbled the camions, the yellow lorries with the marines, and Don expected again to catch sight of Clem Stapley. However, it was not these fighting men that most interested him, for on this Rheims road the boy saw for the first time what he would probably never see again—refugees, fleeing from the German army.
It was a sight never to be forgotten—one to wring pity out of the most stony-hearted,to sober the most waggish, to sadden the gentler-minded as hardly even death, or the suffering of the wounded could do. Driven from their homes, fearing the wrath of the invader, expecting only to return and find all their property destroyed, except the little they could carry away, given over to pillage, or the flames. They trudged along, embittered by injustice, powerless to protest, stolid or weeping, but all of one mind. They sought only a place of safety from the Huns. They were mostly afoot; many old men, the younger and middle-aged women and the stronger boys and girls were the beasts of burden, carrying or drawing great loads in makeshift carts, or light wagons, the more fortunate having horse or cow, or perhaps donkey or dog, harnessed to help. On these loads rode the smaller children and the very aged.
Even the soldiers, singing and laughing as they went on to battle, some of them to death or lifelong suffering, and as gay as if nothing but a picnic lay before them, ceased their music and raillery, when they saw the first of these refugees.
The French medical officer at the evacuation hospital near LaFerté spoke enough Englishto make himself understood by the American Red Cross ambulance drivers, half a dozen of whom had reported to duty before Don arrived on the scene. These fellows greeted him exuberantly and all stood in a row ready to receive orders.
“One of ze dressed staisheon ess more veree far up ze road at zee feets of one hill,m’sieu’. Eet is maybe one kilo from zee enemy at ze Château-Thierry. Go where eet is and carry all ze wound’ you can to bring heempar-ici. Then we operate and dispose,m’sieurs.Allons!”
The ambulances raced away in a string, Don leading. Then began again the experiences of near approach to the battle line, hearing the almost constant rattle of small arms and the hardly less continuous roar of larger guns, seeing the shattered buildings and trees and shell-holes in the most unexpected places. The military police were on duty along the roads. Military messengers were hurrying back and forth.Brancardierswere crossing and re-crossing the fields, with their stretchers empty or laden. Field artillery was moving forward to position. Troops were going in to engage the enemy, or coming out to rest and others waiting in reserve.Ammunition carriers lugged forward their heavy loads. Food for the men in battle was being prepared in hastily set-up kitchens. Sometimes a shell exploded and punctuated the tremendous activity.
“Now then, Wash, mind your eye. We’ve got to get in where, any minute, we may run into a big bang and go up a mile high, or maybe get buried alive or dead under about a ton of earth. Here’s where it is you’ve been saying you’d like to get—right in among the fighters. So be prepared for the worst!”
“Ah ain’t ezakly ready fo’ no sech carryin’s on ez dis,” the darky remarked, rolling his ivory eye-balls until Don thought the pupils would go out of sight and stay there. “How—how long we gotta stay yere an’ what’s de mattah wiv me jes’ droppin’ off ’bout dis place ’en waitin’ twill yu-all gits back from in yondah? Kaint see how Ah’s gwine be much use nohow.”
“You stay right on this car!” ordered Don. “What did you come for? When you get hit, then it’s time to talk about quitting. From your color I didn’t believe you had a single streak of yellow in you.”
Wash stared hard at Don for a moment.A big, whizzing shell, with a noise like that made by a nail when thrown through the air, passed over, not very far away, and exploded with a horrible rending sound, but the negro only shook himself and then grinned. Presently he replied to his companion:
“An’ Ah ain’t yaller, neither! No, sah! En’ yu-all ain’t gwine tuh have no call tuh say Ah is yaller. No, sah! Ah’s gwine tuh stay on dis job ontil de yearth jes’ fade away an’ kingdom come, Ah is. Scairt? Is Ah? Yu jes’ watch me! An’ ef Ah’s gotta git hit, why Ah jes’ gits hit an’ Ah reckon Ah kin stan’ it ez well ez a yuther o’ them niggahs a-fightin’, or any white man, either! Yes, sah!”
And that was all there was to it. Wash meant what he said. Not another whimper did Don hear from him, no matter what their duties were, nor how fast the shells flew. The darky was on the job to prove that he was all one solid color, figuratively as well as literally, even if his name was White. And it became certain that there was no pallor in his liver to indicate his name.
The boys’ first trip close to the battlelines near Château-Thierry resulted in their return with three Frenchmen, one dying and beyond possible help, and two others wounded. Don and Wash had reached the crest of a hill on the road running southwest into LaFerté when they came upon a Red Cross ambulance which had been disabled. Don pulled up a moment to ask if he could briefly give aid, thinking to tow the other car in, if necessary. It was not the custom for a car loaded withblessésto spend any time on the road, if it could be avoided.
A weazen little man, with a foreign face, replied to the boy, in good English:
“Can you lend us a heavy wrench? We have only one and a light one. We need two to take off a bolt.”
Don produced the desired tool from his box and turned to hand it to the little fellow. At the same instant the voice of someone on the other side of the crippled car called quite loud and in French, presumably a command to the little man. The latter made answer as if in protest. Then he handed the wrench back to Don.
“We can obtain another. We should not keep you. Thanks.”
“No, use it,” Don insisted. “I mustgive my wounded some water and see if they are comfortable. It will not take you long.”
The little man ran quickly to his car and dived beneath it. Don, influenced partly by curiosity and partly by instinct, walked past the front end and on to the other side of the disabled car. A man there, whose voice he had heard—glared at him for a moment, then turned away, rounding the rear end of the car and keeping his back to Don. This fellow was tall, thin, with a narrow face and contracted eyes. He was dressed in khaki, with the white band and Red Cross on his arm.
The boy stood pondering but a moment. He knew where he had seen this man before and under what circumstances. Evidently Don also was recognized. Without a word the youth retraced his steps. He knew very well from what exact spot he could draw his rifle and he knew also that Wash knew how to handle a gun and that he would glory in doing so where any kind of heroics were to be pulled off.
Wash, listen: You know how to use this. Magazine’s full. You’re to use it—just when I tell you, or maybe before. There’s a chap around that’s got to go along with us, Wash, and there’s a cord in the tool-box to tie him with. Mind you don’t shoot me! Lie low till I shout.”
Don went back to the crippled car.
“Well, does it work? Got it out?” he asked of the little man and received a muffled reply from beneath thechassis. Don walked around the mudguard past the rear end, and looked along the other side. No one was in sight. Had the tall man slipped into the car? He would find out.
“Nice car you have here—don’t see many as fine in the service,” he remarked to the man beneath. Again a muffled reply. One can hardly give attention to needless questions and wrestle with a refractory bolt. “How is she fitted inside?” Don queried, puttingone hand on the latch of the full-length doors and the other on the butt of his revolver in its holster. But the doors were fastened on the inside.
“Don’t open those doors! Don’t try to, for the love of God!” yelled the small man, from the ground and instantly his wrinkled face emerged, followed by his wiry little body. “We’re loaded with explosives for mines and they’ll go off. Keep away from it!” Whether this was true or not and whether the fellow really felt frightened or was pretending, he certainly assumed it well. Don involuntarily backed away from the car.
“Oh, but that was a narrow escape! We’d all be sky-high if—” he began again, but the boy quickly regained his nerve.
“Well, tell me, howdoes it carry them; stand the jolt? And how are you going to unload it? Looks to me as if you’re kidding. But I don’t see any joke in it.”
“Kidding? Indeed I’m not, man! But I can’t stop now—”
“Oh, yes you will, too! My business is more important right now than yours. I want to see inside and I’m going to. You come here and open these doors for me!”
“What? Trying to act smart, ain’t you?” The little man was about to turn back to his work, but Don caught him by the shoulder, whirled him around and he gazed into the muzzle of the boy’s revolver.
“S-s-say, what you—?”
“Open those doors! There’s a fellow in there that’s going back with us. He’s in there and I want him! Come on, open that door and be quick about it. Wash, bore a hole in this fellow if he makes a break!”
“S-say, put down that pistol! I haven’t done anything to you. Listen to reason: there ain’t anyone in there. The man who was here—some fellow I don’t know went up the road. Guess he’s a Frenchman.”
“I guess he is—not!” said Don. “I know him; saw him before in the United States and up here near Montdidier. Come, open up or chase him out!”
“I tell you there’s explosives—”
“Bosh! Think I’m green; don’t you? Before I have to tell you again to open those doors I’m going to blow the lock off ’em. Now, get busy!”
Don Caught Him by the Shoulder and Whirled Him Around.
The weazen little man was most deliberate. Coming around to the rear end of the ambulance, he reached up to the door latch. Butthis action was a bluff—the boy felt sure of that. The lad didn’t feel like carrying out his threat. To shoot through the doors might kill someone and he didn’t want to kill. At most it was desirable to inflict only a wound. Surely there must be a way to win out here and Don had already learned to depend on the power of his shooting-iron. He had every inch of his nerve with him at this moment.
“Can’t open it, eh? Can’t? Well, I’ll show you how then.” He walked quickly to the car and taking the revolver by the chamber in his left hand—not a thing a wise gunman would do at any time, under stress of threatening circumstances he caught the lower corner of one door that was warped enough to gap at the bottom, and, with a wrench he tore off the frail fastening. The doors flew open.
The next instant Don was tumbling on the ground, struggling to rise. He felt a determination to fight, and hold this man still uppermost in his mind, in spite of a heavy blow over the head from within the car. Where was his weapon? Why could he not instantly regain his feet? Was that the noise of the crippled car getting away? Where was Wash? Why did he not shoot?
Then there was a period of unconsciousness until, a few minutes later, he did get to his feet to stare into the frightened eyes of Washington White.
“Oh, by cracky, they hit me and—they’re gone! Wash, Wash, why didn’t you shoot ’em? Why didn’t you—?”
“Shoot nuthin’! Man, man, how come yo’ lef’ de barrel plum empty? Dey wuz no ca’tridge in de barrel. Ah cocked her ’en pulled de trigger ’en cocked her again ’en pulled ’en she wouldn’t go off nohow ’en by de time Ah projecated whar de troble was, dem fellahs wuz a flyin’ down de road lak Ol’ Man Scratch wuz a huntin’ ’em. But ’tain’t so much Ah keer ef dey is gone so’s yu ain’ daid.”
“Well, I care!” Don was clearly regaining his senses. “But it was my fault, Wash. I never thought to pump a cartridge into the barrel, and what a fool I was to pull that door open and not be ready. That villain was laying for me and, say, their car wasn’t crippled much, either.”
In the roadway, where the disabled car had stood, lay two monkey-wrenches and a small bolt which probably had pivoted a brake rod. At the rate of speed that carhad started to gain, there would probably be no use for brakes!
“We’ve got to get back and report this fellow,” Don said, returning his rifle to its case, and the revolver to its holster on his belt. “We’ve got only about twenty minutes’ run yet, I think. Say, I feel like ten fools to let those devils get away. Keep your eye open for an M. P. on the road.”
But not more than five minutes elapsed before the boys sighted a big touring car, with half a dozen khaki-clad men in it, tearing along toward them. Don stopped and signaled to the soldiers to do the same. They dashed up with screeching brakes, and Don stared. In the front seat, with the driver sat Clem Stapley.
All ill feeling in Don’s mind was swept aside by the business at hand. Its nature and the comradeship that natives of the same distant country in a foreign land and in a common cause naturally abolish personal ill feeling. So he shouted:
“Hello, Clem! Say, fellows, there are two spies right ahead; they just—”
“In a Red Cross car?” asked a man on the rear seat; he was an M. P. “We’re looking for them. Got word at the French evacuation hospital. Two did you say?”
“Yes, and they’re getting away at a lively rate. Clem, one of them is the same German we saw in the train; the one that got away after they blew up the mills, over home. I’ve seen him before, too, north of here. He—”
“Sure he’s a German?” asked the M. P. Clem had said no word and seemed to wish to avoid acknowledging Don. The M. P. turned to Clem.
“Say, Corp, if you know this spy we’d better be getting on. That’s the orders. The P. C. told you to get these fellows.”
Corporal Stapley turned slowly to reply. “Ask you informant here how he came to discover these Germans.”
“Ask him yourself,” retorted the M. P.
“Look here, Clem, don’t be a fool—twice!” Don blurted, angrily. “This is big business and allows for no petty child’s play.”
“How did you get on to them?” Clem deigned to ask, then. And Don briefly related the adventure with the two signalers back of the Mondidier front and then told of the incident just past.
“Couldn’t hold them,” remarked Clem. “Fool trick. I guess you’re better when you’ve got another that’s some accountbacking you. Let them get away! Fierce! Poor work!”
“Hey, yo’ white fellah, hit ain’t so!” Wash put in, angrily. “Yu ain’t in yo’ right min’, Ah reckon. Wha’d yu done ef yu’d ben thar?”
Clem paid no attention, but asked another question. “Did they scare you very much?”
Don, though hurt at his townsman’s words, decided to let them pass; he merely waved his hand up the road, but Wash was more than game.
“Mah boss ain’t gittin’ scairt at nuthin’, yo’ white fellah! Ah bet yu can’t scare him. Dis yer same German spy fit wif mah boss up yon furder no’th an’ mah boss jes’ up en’ kilt dis German man’s pardner, kilt him daid! Major Little of the evac. horspittle he done tol’ me ’bout hit. Dey ain’t no po’ white German what kin scare mah boss!”
“Thank you, Wash. But this gentleman won’t believe—”
“Well, you sassy nigger, how then did this spy get away?”
“Come, come, Corporal! This looks silly to me. Let us be going on, or that spy will get away from us.”
“Good luck to you, Mister Policeman,” said Don, and started his car again.
Don and Wash put in the rest ofthe day overhaulingthe ambulance. Early in the evening they were again on the road to Château-Thierry and witnessing a sight most depressing.
The French were in retreat—constantly falling back. The retirement was orderly. There was no rout, no apparent hurrying and, from the din of battle ahead, it was plain that every foot of advance that the enemy made was bitterly contested. Yet the Huns were gaining, as they had been for five days and for nearly thirty miles, encompassing an area of six hundred square miles in this drive. Success seemed to be written on their banners in this, the greatest effort of all. Thus they forced a deep wedge into the Allied line, the farthermost point of which had reached the town of Château-Thierry. And in the succeeding days what more would they gain?
Back, and farther back were swept the French, and the Huns were elated. The blue-and-red clad troops who had fought them so savagely were now no match for the vast numbers of chosen shock troops. Was there no means by which the boches could be checked?
“By cracky, Wash, it looks as if these French had pretty nearly enough of it! I don’t believe they have, though. But if they keep on coming this way we’ll have to look sharp, or we’ll run into a lot of Huns.”
“Ah doan, want tuh run into no sich!” declared Wash. “Dey eats sauerkraut an’ dis yere what dey calls limberburg cheese—an’ oxcuseme!”
Beyond LaFerté the boys met platoons, companies, regiments, even battalions, or at least remnants of them, and all along the line more than a mile each side of Château-Thierry the falling back wascertain and regular.
Then, suddenly, almost as though dropped from the sky, came the Americans. From long distances in the rear and without stopping to rest from their arduous journey, the Yanks eagerly faced the Huns, and foremost among these cheerful, singing, jesting troops from overseas were the marines, leaving their train of parked lorries not far from LaFerté and coming up on foot.
The German High Command had received intelligence of the French handing the defense of this line nearest Paris over to the Yanks, and the word had come to the invaders:“Go through these untrained Americans like a knife through cheese!” It is said that this was General Ludendorff’s pet phrase.
The Americans took up their positions along the southern bank of the Marne and beyond in the hills. Then night came on. The enemy was too confident of a sweeping victory on the morrow to give serious thought to night attacks. Beyond a few minor skirmishes and some artillery firing, the hours of darkness passed uneventfully.
That night Don and Wash slept in their car, not far from the Château-Thierry road and within a short distance of some American regulars placed in reserve. Seeing the boys’ fire, a few officers came over to talk. They were much interested in Don, and amused at Wash and his lingo. They also were free with certain information and opinions. One first-lieutenant who had most to say remarked:
“Well, we’ve got a job on our hands tomorrow, but we’ll do it! These Frenchies are good fellows and good scrappers, but they have to follow fixed methods of fighting. This is not the American way. I say hang this trench business, pot shots, grenades, flares, sniping and all that!”
“Like to have a little of it kind of Indian fashion, eh?” suggested Don.
“That’s it, my boy! Go right after them—rifle, bayonet and pistol!”
“I hear our commander told the generalissimo that we wanted to fight this in our own way,” offered a young second-lieutenant.
“That’s right. As soon as Foch said we might try, Pershing told him we could stop the Heinies, but we didn’t want to follow the methods commonly in use. We wanted to go at them American fashion. So, those are the orders. And, believe me, we’ll stop them all right!”
“Pretty sure of it?” queried Don.
“Certain, my boy; certain! How do you feel about it, Rastus!”
“Ah feels dis a-way ’bout hit:” answered Wash. “Whichaway a white man wants tuh fight Ah sez let him fight an’ same way wif a niggah. Some goes at it wif fis’ en’ some wif a razzor, but fo’ me lemme butt wif mah haid. Ah kin put mah weight back o’ dis ol’ bean o’ mine en’ make a dant in a grin’ stone wif it!”
“Say, Rastus, go butt a Hun!”
“Show me one, boss; show me one! A ain’t seed one yit what wants tuh fight. Ah on’y heerd tell of ’em.”
Ask Corporal Stapley to report here, Sergeant.” A bluff Irishman, late of the regular army and now attached to the marines for his experience, saluted his Captain and turned to obey. A few minutes later he returned with the non-com.
“What luck, Stapley?” asked the Captain.
“Couldn’t find them, sir,” was the reply.
“That’s bad. Made every effort, I suppose.”
“We did, indeed. Jennings, of the Police, was with us and we scoured around thoroughly. A Red Cross ambulance is pretty easy to spot and we landed half a dozen, but they were all O. K.”
“Haven’t the least idea where those fellows could have gone?”
“Not the least. Case of mysterious disappearance. We thought they might have gone back to the base and we telephoned there to be on the lookout for them, and you may wager they are. We called from LaFertéagain later, but they hadn’t seen them. Jennings ’phoned both the Meaux and Paris police to be on the watch.”
“Unfortunate. Well, you did all you could. Say, a little more personally: I see, by the records, that you are a Brighton Academy boy; is that right?”
“I am; class of 1919, but I don’t know what year we’ll get through now.”
“Well, let us hope it is not deferred. Then college, eh?”
“I guess so.”
“Brighton is a fine school. It was my prep. school, too. I liked it immensely. Good teachers, good courses, fine halls, splendid library, superb athletic field.”
“I’m awfully glad to know you went there, Captain. A good many of our fellows are over here, or were in the service somewhere. There’s Herb Whitcomb—he’s up in Flanders, or was—and Roy Flynn, invalided home, I believe. Some of the fellows are with the flying force—two of my class, Jimmy Hill and Dick Mann. Three of the older fellows, two classes ahead of me, went into the navy. Ted Wainwright and Jack Harris did, too, and are on a submarine. Old Brighton did its share!”
“Yes, and I heard of another from the school; he’s a Red Cross ambulance driver; forget his name now. Only a youngster, but doing some great work. A yarn went around our camp about his landing on a couple of German spies and killing one of them. They said the boy had his own sporting rifle. Must be some plucky kid! Know him?”
“Perhaps I do,” evaded Clem.
“Well, what I wanted to say is this: We go into action in the morning. The advance will be in formation by platoons. The units will keep together at first, but what will happen later, how much we shall become separated, no one can tell. I am going to keep an eye on you. If anything happens I’ll do all in my power And I’m going to ask you, as an old Brighton boy, to do the same for me. Somehow, you know I feel as though it might be—that is, you see, there will be hard fighting and a great number of casualties and we must all do our best. We’ve got to make good and we shall. But some of us—I’m afraid a good many of us—won’t come out of it—won’t live to see the result. Here’s my card, Stapley—my home address. My wife would like to know if—you understand.”
“Yes, I understand, Captain. You may trust me.”
“Thank you, Stapley. Hope you get along well at old Brighton when you get back. Good luck! Taps will sound in about half an hour. Sorry you didn’t find those spies. They may turn up yet.”
The young corporal left the spot and went to where his own platoon was bivouacked. The men, officers and all, slept scattered on the ground, to avoid casualties from stray shells. Each man had a blanket and poncho and though the temperature was low for June, the nights being chilly, it ideal camping weather for men long hardened to it. Some of the toughest fellows had no more than thrown a corner of the blanket across their shoulders, sleeping in their clothes and removing only their shoes. It was the order to do this, as marching feet need an airing and, better, a dabble in cool water. A little stream ran near by and one might safely wager, where it emptied into the Marne, the water that night ran black with the soil of France.
Morning dawned clear and breezy. Shortly after reveille, a messenger arrived from the American headquarters and another fromthe French Field Staff. Half an hour later the two regiments of marines, moving like one man, were marching straight across country a little to the northwest of Château-Thierry. It was the intention to drive the Huns out of their threatening positions in the hills where they were concentrating troops and artillery, mostly machine-gun units. A brigade also of the Third Division U. S. Regulars, moved forward at nearly the same time in support of the marines, if needed.
No prettier sight could be imagined than those long lines of soldiers, over two thousand in number, sweeping forward. They had been called “the Matchless Marines” and by another equally expressive,though homeliername, “the Leathernecks.” Picked men, every one of them chosen with regard to his athletic and probable fighting ability, they could but live up to the standards set for them by their predecessors in the same force, adhering always to the maxims that “the marines never retreat” and that “they hold what they’ve got.”
The peeping sun shone upon their brown uniforms and glistened on their bayoneted guns, as they moved through waving grass and over fields of yellowing grain. Therewas no sound of drum or fife. No band played martial music—that is not the custom when a modern army goes against the enemy—but here and there along those steady, triple lines could be heard laughter, snatches of song, the voice of some wag bantering his fellows.
The orders to the commanding general of the division ran something like this: Rout the enemy from the village of Bouresches. Break up the machine-gun and artillery positions in Belleau Woods and if possible capture Hill No. 165. Consolidate positions at these points and south of the village of Torcy and hold them.
It was evident that the commander-in-chief depended fully on “the Leathernecks” and felt confident that they would do as ordered, although they had before them a large undertaking. It was known that the Germans had two divisions of picked troops at this point, with still another division in reserve.
There was double reason for this confidence. The Americans had already been performing most creditably within the sector about Château-Thierry. A few days before a strong detachment of American regular troops hadwithstood an attack of the enemy at Veuilly Wood, nine miles north of the Marne, and had driven them back. The day following a detachment of machine gunners had held the approaches to the bridges across the Marne, connecting the north and the south towns of Château-Thierry itself and prevented the Huns from crossing, while a battalion of Americans, supporting French artillery that was pounding the Huns in the northern end of the town, captured and wiped out more than their number of Germans who had managed to gain the south bank by pontoons. On the same day the Third and Twenty-eighth Divisions of U. S. regulars, commanded by a French officer, had defeated the enemy in his attempt to make a crossing of the Marne at Jaulgonne, a few miles east of Château-Thierry, and had driven him back to his former positions. But all these battles, relatively small actions in themselves, had been fought according to European methods, and had been directed by French generals and aided by French infantry and artillery.
The action now about to take place was to be that of the Americans alone, under American staff direction, and the boys were going into it tickled with the idea of beingallowed in their own way to get a whack at the Huns.
Corporal Stapley, as he trudged along with his squad, thought of a good many things of a rather solemn nature, though not once did he permit a hint of this to bother his fellows. The next in line was a wag named Giddings, but Clem noted that the youth was very quiet now, and that his face was pale. With a laugh Clem turned to the fellow: “Say, Gid, it’s a fine day for this little picnic.”
“Wonder when the strawberries and ice cream will be served,” Giddings remarked and Clem knew that no matter how the young man really felt he was game. The corporal glanced down the line; there were other pale faces and set lips, but there were also smiles and laughter. One man struck up a song, with words and musicad libitum: